same again

waiting forever for nothing to come. a sponge rung dry on the bench. dormant and bitter until further use. affirm for access to wash yourself again. tell me that you miss me when you need your wounds rebound. cry into my pores and let me listen til you’re clean and good to leave. let’s play the way we’ve learnt. please let me hear your fickle words. I’ll try to care the same again.

to the trunk of a tree

disposable and weathered and well aware of the depths of difference between hope and reality. look up from your phone. peer through the clouds for refuge somewhere else. disappointments fill the trolley I push through the underpass lit by billboards of failed franchises and bus windows. healing as a process holds weight, clouding over empty fields and Sunday afternoons. healing as a process wears many faces, none of which appeal at first glance, unfiltered and frightening and ghostly. healing as a process never ends. we wake to breathe and continue and fish out our own answers. I lurk in the shell of a life I can’t love: still attached to the trunk of a tree I’m now not.

scream

I scream for reason from the storm

she says there’s been none all along

and though the tempests never cease

at least in ignorance there’s peace

I scream for reason but she’s gone

don’t cry but keep the camera on

theres so much content to be made

you’re looking too good for the grave

perhaps my sense of self is lost

just how much might another cost?

what can I do for anyone

if I despise what I’ve become?

invoice

the therapist asks questions only she can get away with. I surprise myself with answers I've never shared. her probing conjures shameful revelations out of words I fill with feeling. she nods into her notes. I cry at unexpected tears. we talk about the monuments we build for days we hate. there is a cause for every hurt and a brain that deals with both. she says the way I care about the world is lovely but I need to take a break. 'it will all be as it was when you return'. I laugh at the idea. turn your back from what you know to sleep a little longer. just forget about the massacres you're funding for a week or two. 'you'll have more energy that way'. we rest to keep going and nothing changes. she tells me to go gently. I pay the invoice in my inbox with the money on my phone.

into birds

9 years disappear over night. for a glimpse of today I remember how it felt to find out and not know better than to hope it wasn’t true. I think about what happened and wonder if we’d still matter to each other had you made it to the picnic. is there a world in which we find our feet and live the dreams we wanted? if you could meet him would you want to know the person I’ve become?

my missing comes in tears and thoughts that cannot find their words. I hold onto your memory and fold it into birds.

the rocks at the beach

I bus to the beach to watch my friends swim from the rocks. the day is too hot under overcast skies. I sit in the shade of the ledge above and think about dipping my toes in. they’re splashing and laughing and I have done the same before. their joy is effortless and unremarkable and I know only I stand between that feeling and the escape from the well I’ve poured into. they clamber up to join me, smoking and stretching their bodies to dry over towels. my body is tired and fragile in the presence of others better at knowing who they are and finding comfort in their skin. I count the ways I need to change and wish I could transcend myself to live for something else. I curse the walls I can’t hold back from building. why can I never stop the thought from coming back to what the moment means for me? the cities fall to flames and my sadness triumphs all. no loathing is enough to move beyond the mirror. vanity forever from the rocks at the beach.

built to crumble

we packed our bags and left what we had built to crumble into nothing. do I dream of our ghosts and that shell of a hotel for five years more? is there any meaning left in memory when I know we never mattered? if I choose to find my feet can I wake and still remember how it felt?